Touch of Redemption
by Dusked
Summary: Hiding away in the Room of Requirement, Draco's panic and anxiety is disturbed by the one person who wouldn't ease his situation... or would it? It's amazing what a war can do to two, vulnerable teenagers. One-shot, AU-EWE. Draco x Hermione, Romance/Hurt-Comfort. Smut.


_New Dramione! Yay! I'd like to thank: _Mrs. Milfoy_, _autumn midnights_, and _Laufeyson'sWife_ for betaing and helping me with this fic. _

_Warnings: Sexual situations and language. _

* * *

**_Touch of Redemption_**

* * *

It was ridiculous on how much he could compare himself to a wall.

A strong concrete block reflecting him on the surface, but what lay beneath displayed everything hidden; the cracks and dents of imperfection, splits of moral mistakes, and coated with a layer of protection to conceal one's true being.

Not much time would pass before that layer would be chipped away before shattering entirely, revealing more than anticipated.

But in some cases, things that are broken can easily be fixed.

…

Some people say it's rational to be frightened.

Unless, of course, you were Draco Malfoy, who felt that it was greatly higher on the scale of fear. A complete irrational kind – the pent-up terror so severe it barely skimmed the boundaries of insanity and sanity.

He stalled his panicked strides and threw himself down on a bed, which was scarcely managing to remain standing by its weakened posts.

The surrounding furniture was destroyed; chalked to a crisp from Crabbe's inexperienced spell handling. And even though everything was removed of most memory, he could still feel the sense of Voldemort's dark magic, twisting an uneasy knot in his stomach.

It was awfully funny, really, how something had started off a safe haven, or hideout for the students, and now it was a charred reminder of how much danger they'd been in and the magnitude of damage that had been inflicted. Much like a loss of innocence.

But in spite of the uncomfortable atmosphere, it was the only place he could stay. He was _hiding. _Not from the school's celebrations of victory, but from all of the Aurors who were rounding up each Death-Eater to send to Azkaban.

He couldn't be taken to prison. He just _couldn't. _

Even if he begged and told them his involvement hadn't been intentional. That he had been unwillingly _thrust _onto their side, their environment, he'd still be punished someway or another, given he'd reluctantly committed crimes to save his own neck. They wouldn't offer pity, no fair trial, not even the chance for him to speak for his freedom. After all, he had the brand on his arm to prove he didn't deserve innocence.

He wasn't what the Mark represented. He never had been, but no one would see past the inked oath.

He'd only just made a getaway after Voldemort's defeat and looked back on the Death-Eater's getting jumped on and whisked away, no time to prepare themselves for a lifetime of pain and torment. No sympathy, no care. _Nothing._

His mother and father had been taken. All that was left of them was the imprinted memory of their prolonged look of goodbye they'd given Draco before being ripped from sight.

And now he was here, and _fuck, _was he scared.

Much so he couldn't suppress the violent shudders racking his body, or settle the constricting in his chest, each breath making it that much more of a struggle. He just _didn't know what to do; _this horrible feeling of dread looming over his head that in a matter of seconds he could be caught and dragged off to the place he'd stay until he died.

In a way, though, there would hardly be any difference if he _were _pronounced innocent. He'd be treated exactly the same as if he were in prison. He'd be shouted at, maybe even beaten; anything that would show him as shameful or an outsider. _Scum. _

After a moment's hesitation, there was only one thing he could think of doing.

Curling his hand into a fist, he reared back and rammed it into an old wardrobe, once, twice, and several more times until searing pain shot through his fingers and past his wrist. But it was enough. The restrained frustration and ferocious energy crackling in his veins urged him to…break something, _anything. _And he did it again, ignoring the warm blood sticking between his fingers or the savage growl that thundered in his chest.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't cope with this overwhelming panic eating at his insides, and before he knew it he was back on the bed, fisting clumps of his hair painfully, as trails of tears wetted his cheeks, and a line of vicious sobs were wrenched from his mouth.

It wouldn't really be known how long he was there, crying, until _finally, _he drifted out from sheer exhaustion.

But even that seldom piece of sleep was torture.

…

He woke with a start; a cold film of sweat thinly covered his forehead and a hot tightness gnawed at his stomach. His heart thumped wildly against his ribcage, and in the crazed moment of his anxiety, he checked if there were any Death-Eaters surrounding him. There wasn't, of course. He was only faced with the dimly-lit Room of Requirement, still in its horrid and exposed state.

It had been the first of many expected nightmares. His edginess resumed almost instantly in the melancholy silence as he hauled himself up and swiped away the damp strands of hair from his eyes. It was still painfully clear in his mind, the distinct images replaying. Dreams rarely offered such staggering clarity when reality finally returned.

Dragging his legs off the bed, he couldn't remember when he'd removed his shoes as a hiss sliced through his teeth when the cold floor bit into his feet. "Fuck," he muttered, massaging his temples roughly. "_Fuck._"

He couldn't stay here any longer. If he did, it would only take a few more hours before that fragile barrier of sanity broke away. He guessed it was due to the empty ambience, the room completely still apart from his heavy and laboured breathing.

So when he heard the door opening and slamming shut, he slapped a hand to his mouth to stifle the yelp that had crawled up his throat. He remained quiet, trying to level his now erratic breaths, but it was only made worse when the footsteps advanced behind him. If he strained hard enough, he could've sworn he could make out sniffling and muffled whimpers.

He felt the apprehension in his gut strengthen as the cries drew closer; his back stiffened and a chill stabbed the bottom of his spine. He didn't know why, but he didn't take the opportunity to run, and so he stayed firmly seated. There was no time to ask himself as the cries suddenly stopped.

"What are _you _doing here?"

Relief flooded through him, though, a niggling began to throb in his temples. He was in _no mood _for her right now. Anyone would be welcome right now, even Potter; but not her. "_Leave, _Granger –"

He heard her huff impatiently. "I said –"

"I know what you said," he spat harshly. "And this is my answer – _piss off._"

"No!" she replied snappishly, but there was a thickness to her voice from the recent crying. "I want to know what you're doing here –"

"I SAID LEAVE, GRANGER! WHAT PART OF THAT DO YOU FIND SO DIFFICULT? IS IT THE WALKING OR THE OPENING OF THE DOOR?"

It may have been the bellow that had exploded past his lips, or the sight of his swollen, tear-streaked cheeks when he'd spun around that caused her to flinch. He was not sure. But then, she frowned, her eyes roaming over his form. Slowly. Intrusively. Her solid stare made him feel naked, his bare vulnerability cutting through his fractured façade. He balled his hands into tight fists, teeth gnashed together.

He took several measuring breaths, his anger simmering ever so slightly. "Surprised with what you see, Granger?" He tried to snarl, but he rasped over the words from his crisped throat.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed nervously, but her reply was simple, "No."

That caught him off guard, and then he noticed the blotched skin around her eyes and her damp cheeks. And for a _split _second he felt a yank in his chest because they were mirroring each other; broken, lost, unhinged. That little bit of comparison made him think he wasn't the only one suffering. But the moment passed as soon as it had arrived.

His jaw twitched. "And why is that?"

She cast her eyes down to the floor for a moment before they swivelled back up to his face. "Because we're in the same boat."

Regardless of his previous thought, he hissed ruthlessly, "We are _not _in the same boat, Granger. We are _not _alike in the slightest no matter how much you believe we are."

She took a tentative step closer. "Do you really think that? So we're _both _not two teenagers who've just been in the middle of a war? We _both _haven't lost our parents in some way? And we _both _do not have marks on our arms that can be used against us, have we?"

His fists shook at his sides. "Don't bring that up –"

"Why?" she wondered, her head cocking to the side. "What difference is it going to make now? What's going to happen if you do speak –"

He blurted the words out before he could reel them back in. "Because it reminds me of what a failure I am! Alright? Is that what you wanted to hear, Granger?"

Her face showed the slight trace of realisation of what she'd asked. "Well, I –"

"_NO!" _he roared, crossing the distance between them, and although she stood confidently like the little Gryffindor she was, he caught the flash of alarmed trepidation in her eyes. "You wanted to snoop around in my business, so I'll allow you! What would you like to know first?"

He knew he had a deranged, hysterical look in his eyes from the reflection in her watery ones, and she gulped thickly. "Malfoy, just calm down –"

"Let's start with this, shall we?" He yanked up his tattered sleeve, revealing the stained coiling skull and snake on his arm. "Now _this _is part of the failure because I couldn't prevent it from happening. _No, _I was too much of a coward to say no to something. I was forced to take the mark, no matter how much I didn't want to. If I didn't take it, I would've been killed. So I _had _to take it. But even though I did, there was still the likely chance I'd be slaughtered for a wrong doing!"

She remained silent, so he continued. "And because of this – this _thing, _I'm about to be locked up for _life. _I would much rather die than remain in a cell, losing my mind for the next hundred years! I'm going to be charged for something I unwillingly took, but of course, that won't matter to the Ministry. They'll take anything to get a higher status and a way to redeem themselves! What about _me? _Don't _I _get absolution? NO! Of course I don't! To _them, _I'm inhuman, NOTHING!"

"Malfoy –"

He was attempting to control his emotions by this point, but angry tears were already beginning to spill over, his voice halting every so often as he gasped down masses of air. "I am _sick _of this, Granger! I'm sick of being this – this petrified, even after this fucking war is over! So there! Are you happy now that you've gotten your answer?" His face was mere inches from hers. "Well? _Are you?_"

A moment passed. "Yes," she whispered, her tongue flicking out to dampen her lips. Her eyes were glossy from fresh yet unshed tears. "And _are you _now feeling a little better after telling me all of that?"

His stance faltered slightly and his eyelids fluttered, his eyelashes now glued together from the drops of water. He did feel better. Not by much, but it still felt bloody amazing to have that little bit of pressure lifted from his shoulders. And the strange thing was he didn't really mind expressing it all to Granger, because she seemed to have understood him.

"You've nothing to be afraid of, Malfoy," she said softly. "Your assumed outcome may only have a slight chance of happening. You can't predict the future. You just have to let it happen, because in the end, it's going to find you anyway."

He gave her a grave look and swallowed down the clot that had formed in his throat. "Why are you saying all this?"

"Because somebody has to state the truth."

Drawing in a shaky breath, he ran a tense hand through his hair and wiped at his eyes. He knew what she'd said was absolutely right, but he hadn't wanted to hear it. Just the thoughts he'd conjured in his head were bad enough to deal with.

"What the _hell _happened to your hand?"

He snapped from his daze and frowned until she grabbed his hand, now crusted in dried blood from his earlier outburst. He flinched at the unexpected contact, and as if burned, she immediately dropped his hand. "Do you mind me touching you?"

_What? Oh. _"I don't care about that anymore." He replied stiffly, his hand flexing at his side from the foreign sensations of warm tingled she'd projected.

He really didn't. Blood status had been discarded during his Sixth Year after ruling his entire life. There was no difference between them. He could prove that from the blood on his hand to the blood oozing from the cut on her forehead. The same colour, the same texture, the same person.

He almost choked when the corner of her mouth quirked up and she returned to inspecting his injury. She pulled out her wand and gestured to his mangled hand. "May I?"

Shrugging, he wondered how his rage was dispersing so rapidly. He guessed it was because he was tired. Maybe. "If you must."

She nodded and tapped her wand against his fingers. He hissed when a crack vibrated against his bone, snapping it back into alignment. "You know you're not the only one alone, Malfoy. There are others in the same position as you."

He snorted half-heartedly, shoving back all sarcastic and negative remarks that teased his tongue. "Who?"

She looked at him and shrugged. "Me."

His brow furrowed and he scoffed lightly. "What are you talking about? You've got Golden Boy and Weasel."

"Not for long I won't," she mumbled, and Draco sunk his teeth into his lips to hold back the grunt of pain when another bone shifted into its original place. "Sorry."

He shook his head dismissively, urging her to continue. "Well, Harry's just defeated the most powerful wizard of history, hasn't he? He's going to be an icon, more famous than he was before. He may not be one of those people who want that kind of thing, but getting the press off your back isn't that easy. He'll be stuck as a celebrity for the rest of his life. Too many interviews and fans to deal with over his friends."

"And Weasel?"

She shook her head absently and breathed in deeply. "I don't know if we even have a friendship anymore."

Usually, by now, he would have told her to shove off and take her personal issues elsewhere, but unknowingly he wanted to hear what was wrong. "Why?"

He guessed it was quite bad if her sad sigh was any indication. "We kissed."

His eyebrows rose. Not from the statement, but from the uncomfortable clench around his chest. "Shouldn't that have led you two to be more involved than friendship?"

"I thought it was supposed to head that way, too, but…it felt _wrong._" Her nose scrunched up. "It was like kissing a brother. But I don't know why I kissed him. When I saw him leaning in, I wanted to run, but something made me do it. The heat of the moment, I suppose. And so, I _panicked_, and left him when he wasn't looking. That's how I ended up here."

He was back in his lost state when he watched as tears began to glaze her eyes. "And then F–Fred died, and I can't _do _anything to help Ron because it would be l–leading him on, but if I distance myself or ignore him it's going to make him f–feel even worse. I don't know what to do, and I just feel so _helpless _and _alone._"

By this time, she'd finished healing, and he looked down at their joined hands. She hadn't realised this until, rather awkwardly on instinct, he swiped his thumb over her knuckles gently. Her head then snapped up, her watery eyes locking onto his.

He stole a breath, cursing himself for softening like some Hufflepuff. "You'll figure out how to deal with Weasel. You are the know-it-all, after all." She laughed breathlessly, and he tightened his hold on his hand, summoning up all courage he could possibly muster. "You're not alone, Granger… _We're _not alone."

And then it felt as if he were suddenly drowning when he looked at her; the blood beginning to vehemently thump in his ears, as he felt the bone-crushing embrace of gravity, and everything but Granger became disorientated and hazy, as though divided by a screen of frosted glass.

He found himself lowering his head cautiously, but stopped when he was a breath away, wondering if this really was a good idea. He searched her face for any sign or flicker that showed she wanted this, too.

She remained silent. "This isn't the best idea, Granger," he warned, the fanning of her sweet, panting breaths on his face almost strangling the air from his lungs. _Fuck, _he wanted her to stop before they got into deeper shit because he couldn't stop now. This _desperate _need for her touch and connection was there, shouting at him to seize the chance.

Finally, she spoke, "I know," she said, smiling, "But life is all about taking risks, isn't it?" And then she wrapped her hand around the nape of his neck, and tugged his head down, finally closing the space between them.

It was like static, the feeling as if their lips were emitting sparks and shots of electric, as he swooped his tongue over hers before taking her bottom lip between his teeth and gently nibbled and sucked, a pleasant shiver electrifying his spine when she released a timid moan.

Her hands were cold through the fabric of his clothing as she clutched onto his shoulders, but they cooled down his sweltering skin. He tangled a hand in her dirty and unkempt hair, the other grasping her waist possessively, effectively pulling her closer.

Though her kisses matched his passion, there was still a hint of innocence and shyness in her approach. Strangely, he felt softened by it, and the hand in her hair shifted to cup her cheek, his thumb grazing over her jaw. It was unnatural to be making such an irrational decision, but he guessed that was what the aftermath of a war did to some people.

The impulse could've come from anywhere as she boldly dragged her hands down his chest and lifted the hem of his shirt. Her fingers brushed against his skin as she exposed his torso, and he broke the kiss to help dispose of it, roughly yanking it off and slinging it over their heads.

He stifled the smirk that was crawling up onto his face when her tongue unconsciously ran over her dry lips as her eyes swept over his naked chest. He wasn't overly bulky or hench. Merlin, no. He hated that image. It was more soft angles of his stomach and hips, but enough to set the rate of Hermione's pulse to an irregular tempo.

She barely managed to release an approving hum before he attacked her mouth again, fast and frenzied like two furious animals. She ran her hands over the planes of his chest, feeling his ragged sigh flutter against her tongue and his fingers dig harder into her waist. And she had to squeeze her thighs together when she felt something wonderful clench behind her navel, her heartbeat roaring in her ears.

Their chests were heaving with laboured breaths as he freed his hold on her and his hands glided up her body, sliding her jean jacket off her shoulders. He let out an uninhibited groan when he pulled off her t-shirt and tossed it to the floor, his hands coming into contact with her naked skin.

He took the stolen moment to rove over her, and his breath hitched when he settled on the first thing to catch his eye. It wasn't the black bra that commented her chest, but the jagged scar that lined the curve of her shoulder, and the thin web of surrounding cuts from the impact of magic. It was healed, but looked quite recent.

Before he could stop himself, he reached out, his fingertips barely feathering over the rough skin, but she cuffed his wrist before he could explore it more thoroughly. "Don't touch it," she whispered, and he looked down to see her staring at the ground. He gently eased his wrist from her hold, and let it rest on her waist again.

He titled her chin up and saw tears in her eyes again. "Why?"

"I don't like the way it looks."

"Well, neither do I," he admitted, and he saw the flicker of hurt across her face so quickly added, "But it doesn't make a difference in the way I see you."

"Can I really believe that when it's coming from your mouth?"

He shrugged and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't know. Can you?"

Her only answer was to return her lips to his, the passion rushing back to them like a current of energy, and his fingers hooked in the belt loops of her jeans, slowly dragging them down her legs. They fell to the floor with a dull thud, and she stepped out of them, holding onto his arms for support.

It was too difficult to stop his lust-misted stare from wandering over her shape, again. His stomach constricted, and he felt himself harden as he soaked her in. Some wouldn't think much of her; clad in a set of practical black lingerie that would go unnoticed, but it didn't hide away her unexpected curves that made him swallow thickly. From the diminishing candlelight, a glow outlined her silhouette, and before he managed to catch it, he released an admired gasp.

_More than pretty…bloody beautiful._

Her embarrassment was evident as her cheeks darkened, and she nibbled on her bottom lip, but he quickly captured them again before she could hide herself. His arousal was pressed flush up against the inside of her thigh, and he felt her fidget continually, attempting to gather the much needed friction to feed the burning need in the pit of her gut.

She sighed into his mouth when he _finally _wrenched off his trousers and kicked them off, growling when her hand accidentally brushed up against the strain in his boxers. He prayed to unknown deities to prevent his finishing before he started.

He caught sight of the bed then, and guided her towards it. A mellow gasp left her lips as the backs of her legs bumped the edge. As much as his ravenous desire would permit, he gently laid her upon the mattress, crawling over her whilst continuing to devour her mouth.

His lips trailed down her neck then, grazing over the column of flesh on her shoulder before latching onto the sensitive spot above her collarbone and sucking hard. A raw teeth mark would stain her ashen skin for a week, for sure.

He relished in her unrestrained whine when he placed languid pecks over her breasts. He realised she was literally _scorching; _gems of sweat clung to her body, and it was as if layers of steam emitted from their bodies in the frantic and hasty movements.

He sensed her impatience in the way her hips gyrated against his and her nails clawed at his back. He pulled a shuddering moan from her when he reached down between their bodies and stroked her slowly through her damp cotton knickers, teasing her to make this last that little bit longer.

His thumb torturously circled that most tender spot, and she bucked against his hand. The image of her below him, daringly staring up at him with smouldering metallic eyes and her hips rolling in time with his purposeful actions, was a threat to his already meager stamina. His eyes darkened and a guttural growl rumbled in his chest at the thrilling prospect of her coming undone around him, and he _finally _broke that boundary by shifting her underwear to the side and sliding a finger inside her.

Her legs then belted around his waist, dragging him closer as his finger thrummed against that sweet, pulsing spot that sent flares of sensitive sensations to the climbing throb in her stomach. He scraped his teeth along her jaw, nipping and sucking as he felt her short gasps along his forehead. And he felt the deep sink of her teeth in his shoulder as she was teetering ever so dangerously on that edge.

Reaching up with his free hand, he dragged away her fringe that stuck to the hot perspiration on her forehead. He then laced his hand into her hair and brought her swollen lips back to his, feeling her clench tightly around his fingers in a somewhat vice-like grip.

With a stammered cry, she threw her head back, her muscles clenching and throbbing from the ferocity of heat surging around her body. He watched as her eyes clamped shut and she arched against him, writhing across the bed as droplets of sweat beaded her eyelashes. The way she lost control, lost herself in the intensity of her rapture at that moment, he was completely awe-struck.

As she came down from her high, a pleasant ache wavered in her limbs. She opened her eyes to lazy slits and gazed up at him, and he threaded a hand through her hair. "Are you okay?"

She breathed a laugh. "I'm brilliant."

His lips twitched before she pulled him down for another kiss. Before he could even groan in response, she tore off his boxers with a quick yank, the snap of elastic slapping against his thigh. The steel arousal of him stood to attention, sliding against the wet heat of her, coaxing a fierce shiver to whip his back.

He broke the kiss long enough to hook his finger in the waistband of her knickers, dragging them down her legs and throwing them to the side. He slithered between her legs then, tying them around his torso and lining up properly.

The persistent wriggling and tugging on his waist was enough confirmation for his hips to snap forward and bury himself completely inside her, but his eyes widened when she drew in a sharp breath and her eyes begun to water, biting her lip to hold back the painful cry that prickled at her tongue.

"What the…"

Glancing down between them, he choked on a breath at the streak of blood on himself and her thighs. He started to shake uncontrollably, from the repressed urge to move from being in the wet hotness of her, and the iron-grip of fear in his chest of having just taken another person's innocence.

Wordlessly, he made to pull out, but Granger tightened her legs around him, making it that more difficult to hold back the growling need that was gnawing at the spot in his abdomen, but he gathered all strength to reel it back in to prevent causing her any more damage.

"_Granger…_why…" He shook his head, screwing his eyes shut.

He felt her whisper brush against his ear. "Please, it doesn't matter."

"What do you mean _it doesn't matter?_" he softly snarled. "I've – I've just taken your _virginity. _Of course it fucking matters! Not only have I hurt you physically, but now probably emotionally, too! Why didn't you tell me? Oh, Merlin, do you have any idea what you've done –"

She silenced him with a hand over his mouth and stared into his ice-coloured eyes. "I knew what I was doing, Malfoy. Of course I did. What I've _done _is made it clear that I _want _you. And…and –"

"And what?" he muffled behind her hand.

She stole several deep breaths and pushed back the tension wedged in her throat. "And more than just a one-time thing…"

Reaching up, he eased her hand away from his mouth, a crease forming in his brow. "Why?"

"I don't know. It may sound utterly ridiculous but…Do you remember the day at your Manor?" He nodded. "Well, I felt a connection between us, this...feeling of...understanding that I'd never felt before." Her eyes latched onto his, the small trace of hope glowing within them. "Did…did you ever feel it?"

Yes. To put it bluntly, he did. Ever since the day at Malfoy Manor when he'd locked eyes with her a flame had ignited in his chest – a feeling he'd never experienced. But it was still there, blazing within him, begging to be satisfied by her. All of her.

"Yes," he breathed, his eyes burning into hers. "I did."

Pulling him down, she murmured against his lips, "It doesn't hurt anymore. You can move."

He braced his hands on either side of her head, drawing back slightly. "Are you sure?"

All her needs was the small nod of her head, and he pushed back into her – all the way – until he was fully seated within her, pressing against that spot that earned him a velvety hiss through her teeth from the sheer acute sensation it gave; pulses and bursts of pleasure rippling through her body.

She was tight with inexperience and anxiety, and so he twirled his fingers into her hair, easing out the tangles. He smoothed out the stiff knots in her neck, the practised motion causing her locked grip around his waist to slowly loosen, and detach her teeth from her bottom lips as a content sigh fluttered out.

His hands gripped on her hips tightly as he made the first slow and careful thrust, and he kept it that way, not wanting to rush through their first time. The sway of his hips was still gentle, but shallow enough to elicit mewls and growls from the both of them. He released a shaky grunt when she crossed her ankles over his back, allowing him to slide in deeper.

He snaked his arms around her back then, pulling her up until she was settled in his lap, her breasts pushed against his sweat-dotted chest. Confident the position would brush against that sensitive spot, he rolled his hips in measured strokes and leant down to pepper open-mouthed, wet kisses across her neck and chest.

It was torn between being too much and too little; the sweat pouring off them like rainfall, the crackling of their touches lingering on their skin, and the feeling of her clenching and convulsing around him. But it still wasn't enough. He needed his release, the rhythm of thumps in his gut becoming too much to bear.

His head was swimming by this point, but he never slowed his pace. Not when the sweat cascaded down into his eyes, or when his heart was close to freezing to a dead-beat, or when he reached down and began to stroke against her responsive bud in time with the rocking of his hips. She wriggled against him, attempting to find her relief as her stomach throbbed and drummed.

The sensations were beginning to engulf him; the rough bed sheets scratching against his skin, and bite of cold ghosting over his back from the room's lack of warmth. The only source of heat provided was from the heat of Granger's body, radiating off her like sheets of mist.

It took one last swing of his hips before the sensations knocking around her body finally shattered her.

She bowed against him and then slumped back against the bed, taking him along. A keening wail burst past her lips, and she pierced her nails into his shoulders as her body seized and cramped from the surge of pleasure and heat rolling over her. Her toes curled involuntary, limbs trembling uncontrollably, and only when he brushed the hair from her face did the sensations soften until a pleasant hum passed over her body.

All proved not over as he continued to sway into her, and his hold on her tightened further until he unravelled. He smothered his groan in the crook of her neck and clutched onto her as she calmed his quivering body. The feeling of her fingers twisting through his hair and the purrs of her languorous kisses along his neck made his body become heavily relaxed.

He rolled off her then, their bodies amidst a tangle of crumpled and sweat-sodden bed sheets, the essence of their recent lovemaking still lingering in the air. She was exhausted in his arms, yawning and burrowing herself further into his embrace as she traced various patterns over his chest. But for him, the uncomfortable silence crept in.

"Are you still scared?"

He would have been thankful for slicing through the hushed air, but the question made his stomach shrivel up. "What do you mean?"

She propped her chin up on his chest, peeking at him inquisitively through her eyelashes. "Earlier you told me you were scared because there may be the chance you'd be sent to Azkaban. _Are you _still scared?"

He frowned, speechless. He _was _still scared. But within that fright, there was something like…anticipation, like he was prepared for what he'd be faced with. It was because of that realisation that he wasn't _alone. _Despite it being only one person, it was all he needed. He only needed that comfort that somewhere there was _someone _supporting him, bracing the weight on his shoulders.

And it was _her. _Granger was the one who was curled in his arms, and it didn't bother him, at all. He didn't hate her. He had the feeling he'd stopped hating her for quite a while now. And he _wanted _her there because he'd have the gaping hole in his chest, or he'd be lost again without this connection or closeness. It was new to him, but it wasn't something he'd want to give up so easily.

The back of his hand ran down her cheek. "Not as much as before."

"Do you think you'd be able to walk outside this room?"

He nodded slowly, his lips pressing into a tight line. "Maybe…if you came with me."

She caught the hand on her cheek and lifted it to her mouth, her lips barely brushing against it, but it still made a sheet of goose bumps rise over his skin. "Of course."

With deliberate slow movements, they dragged themselves from the bed, not bothering to cover up their bare bodies. They were way past embarrassed. He watched her gracefully clothe herself as he distractedly pulled on his trousers and buttoned up what was left of his worn out shirt. She glanced over at him and gave an encouraging smile, her face and chest still flushed from their previous activities.

Once fully clothed, Granger wandered over to him and linked her arms around his neck, tugging him down until his head rested against her own. "Relax," she muttered, her hands running over his back.

He hadn't realised his form had gone rigid, but he shivered when her fingernails scraped over the back of his neck. He felt heavy again; all weight feeling as if it was turning to lead, fixing him to the ground. It was soothing in a weird way, to feel his muscles slacken finally after feeling like they'd been so taut for so many years of his life.

She pulled back and tentatively held his neck. "Are you ready?"

Closing his eyes, he nodded, and felt her hands leave his neck before enclosing around one of his, their fingers weaving together.

It wasn't a very long walk to the awaiting double doors. They didn't speak to each other during the short journey, but they needn't, as it was better to bask in the comfortable silence. Every now and then she would give his hand a heartening squeeze, enough for him to power through.

He looked down at her questionably, almost imploringly. She nodded and he grabbed the door handle, but as soon as he pushed down and opened it a crack, he was yanked away from Granger, two hands grabbing him roughly and he stumbled as he was dragged along the floor.

"I've got him!" A man grunted. An Auror, his grip around Draco's arms bound to leave finger-shaped bruises. "We've been looking everywhere for you, _mate._"

Another jogged over and jabbed his wand to Draco's throat, the tip digging against his windpipe. "Let's get him out of here before he tries to escape."

"No! Wait!" He heard Granger shout, but they only ignored her plead.

The first Auror turned to the second. "Not only has he caused the felony of being a Death-Eater, but he's also held a student captive." He shook Draco forcibly. "Looks like you'll be getting more than a few years in Azkaban."

He heard the clatter of footsteps and then he was pulled back again. The Aurors spun around to face an angry-faced Granger. "You'll listen to me _right now!_"

When they remained quiet from the stunned surprise of being told what to do like two schoolboys, she continued. "He's just as much as a victim as the rest of us!"

Both Aurors snorted. "Oh, really?"

"Yes, really," she retorted. "If you're really _that _prejudiced to what's on his arm, then you're both just as bad as Voldemort was to me because of the blood in my veins! So don't you _dare _jump to the conclusions before knowing the proper facts!"

They stared at her, mouths agape, including Draco's. But there was only a moment's hesitation before they grunted again, and begun to lug him along the darkened hallway again. Before he even registered it himself, he managed to break free from their hold, running straight into her outstretched arms.

"This isn't over, Granger," he promised lowly, his hands moving to cradle her face. "Believe me, I will make sure –"

Her lips smothered his words, her scent of vanilla and the thin smoke instantly enveloping him. He put all the passion he could into the kiss, making it one that would still tingle on his lips and keep the fluttering in his stomach present after they parted.

He quelled the resigned sigh that tried to taunt its way past his lips when they broke away from the hard kiss. She rested her forehead against his, breathless. "I never said it was going to be over." Her thumb stroked over his cheek and jaw. "It's going to be _okay_, Draco."

He released a trembling laugh. "And how do you know that?"

She pulled back enough to stare at him, her face solemn. "Because I'll be here for your return."

At this, he smiled – no, _beamed_. He believed her; he could _feel _her honesty, if that were even possible. From the sincerity in her voice and the faint life glistening within her eyes was accurate enough proof needed. After a year of crushed and withered hopes, a small piece of faith had blossomed beneath the downfall. And he just happened to be the one who owned it.

So when the Auror's behind him snatched his upper arms, this time he allowed them to drag him away, not bothering to struggle, not even to protest. He was ready for everything that life would throw at him, preparing himself for the path ahead.

* * *

**the end**

* * *

_thank you, my lovelies. In this sort of ending, there may be a sequel in the future.. not now, but soon._

___this can also be considered a sequel to "An Understanding of Two", but strong enough to stand on its own, too. Hence the whole cliche, cheesy "connection" they have together. (If you've read AUoT)._


End file.
